Work in progress.

$30 and a box of, well, stuff.

Since if finally stopped snowing, I was finally able to take my new car out for a spin. Hot dog. I shall recount the adventure for you.

Sex and Wal*Mart
I needed floor mats for the vehicle, as one must not sully the mats provided by the dealership. Plus, the only snow brush I have is one rather short one left over from the previous inhabitants of this house. Since I too am rather short, I needed something different. So, off to Wal*Mart I went. I found a super floor mat, the rubber kind with ridges to catch the snow and anti-skid. Very high class. Then, I picked up a flashlight (red, of course) because it seems like one should have a flashlight in one's car, just in case. In case what? I assume it's to find things that you lose underneath your seat, but my mom informs me that it could come in handy when inspecting parts of your car -- like a flat tire or something.

I attempted to find a snowbrush, but they only had cheap 88-cent scrapers and the ultra-short brushes like what was abandoned (for good reason) in our garage. I decided to save that purchase for another time.

I headed to the checkout, and opted not to wait in line behind a girl who looked younger than me who was purchasing 20-odd cans of formula. It was too depressing. So, I scooted into the next lane behind a guy sporting that special "hunting camp" look -- a poorly grown, rarely groomed beard. His only purchase was a box of (cover your ears) prophylactics. Twelve count. He shuffled foot to foot, clearly nervous about either buying the product, or about current events, I don't know. Anyway, it was rather embarassing. So, I tried not to look too closely. I did my best to not strike up conversation. Possible starter, you wonder? "Only 12?" I'd ask.

Then I wondered: Why wouldn't you buy a bag of chips to lay on the belt after the prophylactics in order to hide what you were buying if you were so embarassed by them? Good grief. So, I did my best to look away, wistfully yearning for the line one over, behind the unwed teenage mother and her case of formula.

On my way out, I encountered condom-man again. This time he was playing with the "magic claw" machine. Trying to win his girlfriend a gift, I wondered?

Parking? 30 dollars, ma'am.
Then I drove home. I have to park in the yard by our driveway, and I should've known better. In order to get into my spot, I had to back in from the road. Not a big deal. Frankly, our old driveway was an ice-covered mountain, so this flat surface should be a piece of cake, right?

Guess again. I went to straighten my car and back it in, so I inched forward. Over the edge of the driveway. Down an embankment. An embankment that didn't exist before we got a foot of snow. Yikes.

Thank god I was still on our property line.

So, here I was, stuck on my own front lawn. I attempted to back out. It didn't work. I called my mom and followed her instructions. No help. Big trouble. I read the owner's manual, "How to free a stuck car," tried that -- didn't help.

My only recourse was to wait for Grumbles the Christmas Elf. You guessed it, my dad.

Yikes.

See, he likes his girl-children to have newer cars, so that they don't have loads of operating trouble. I doubt he realized just what a bad parker I was, and what trouble that could be.

Anyway, he glowered at me, and then worked at unsticking my car. It didn't work.

My mom called the tow truck. Yup. I had to get my car towed from my own front yard. It's a sad world indeed. The going rate for such things is $30, just so you know, in case it happens to you.

Posted by Julie Young at December 15, 2003 10:49 PM